Knightfall
by Luck Kazajian
Summary: "I don't need the vitals in my helmet to tell me I'm dying... But dying isn't what's troubling me, not the actual physical part. No, the only thing I want to know is, is my death worth something?" Oneshot.


****The idea for this story came from playing Star Wars Battlefront II with my sister. It's the personal views of a soldier of the 501st, based on the game  
>level Knightfall.<br>Of course, I don't own Star Wars (as if I need to tell you that), I just own the clone, the Padawan, Rev and his comrade and their thoughts.****

****One note: The clone soldier mentions that he is only thirteen; clones age twice as fast as normal humans, so while he is literally only thirteen, he appears to be about twenty-six.****

**Knightfall**

I don't need the vitals in my helmet to tell me I'm dying. I know it; I can _feel_ it. After all, any man as wounded as I am knows he's going to die. There's no other way it can happen. No one can stop death. But dying isn't what's troubling me, not the actual physical part. No, the only thing I want to know is, is my death worth something? Did I—but, wait, I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me back up and start from the beginning.

* * *

><p>We were on Utapau when we got the order. The 501st was pulling out. Order 66 was enacted and we were needed on Coruscant—immediately. It was a quick extraction; we were just engaged in cleanup. General Grievous was dead and we were tying up a few loose ends. The dropships were ready and waiting for us to leave. Someone had orchestrated all this. It was on no whim that we were summoned as quickly and quietly as we were. Of course, we all knew who was behind it. Supreme Chancellor Palpatine. And we all knew why we were going to Coruscant. The Jedi—the commanders we had served under this whole war, the Masters and Padawans we had lived, eaten, and fought beside—had made a move for power, a move against Palpatine. And now all were to be killed. Not one was to be left standing. We knew that this was our mission as we boarded those dropships en-route to Coruscant.<p>

It was a silent transfer. None of the casual jokes and good-natured jibes that usually accompanied the move to a new position. None of us relaxed. Because we knew we couldn't. Our next mission would be the hardest, most challenging order we'd ever been given and many of us might not make it out alive. The Jedi were warriors after all, and nearly invincible ones at that. Our armor was no match for their lightsabers. But it was more than a physical challenge, it was also an emotional one. Would we kill the Jedi on command, would we pull the trigger when asked? We all knew what would happen if we refused orders, but we also knew what would happen when we followed them. We all shut ourselves up in our helmets, in our own private thoughts and prayers. None of us wanted to voice aloud what we really thought.  
>Coruscant was peaceful when we arrived. It was dark; the temple was quiet, illuminated by the soft blue glow of the Jedi lights. The dropships landed on one of the verandas, disengaging troops quickly then flying off, making room for the next ship to do the same. It was also a message—no man leaves this temple. We were committed whether we wanted to be or not. Lord Vader, our field commander for this mission, met us as soon as our boots hit Temple permacrete.<p>

"Kill them all," was all he said.

He led us into the Temple, lightsaber drawn, ready to cut down any who opposed him.

It was unnaturally quiet in the Temple. It was as if the Jedi didn't know we were there. And yet—they had to have known, what with the Force whispering in their ears all the time. We fanned out and hit the Temple hard. Searched every room we came across. It was strange; the Jedi didn't seem prepared for the attack, or even willing to believe it was actually happening. We shot down several Jedi just sitting at their desks or strolling down the halls before they seemed ready to acknowledge our traitorous intentions. But when the Jedi finally shook off the sleepy stupor of their shock, they united and struck back—harder than we initially struck them. And then it became a life or death mission. Us or them. The Padawans or the soldiers. It made it easier when the Jedi finally pulled their weapons on us. It was more like real battle. The shoot or be shot instinct kicked in and, for a moment, I forgot it was Jedi I was killing.

They came at us in waves, from everywhere all at once. From the ceiling, through the windows, from behind doors, and out of hallways and classrooms. It was a bloody massacre. Their temple guards were running around too, putting rounds through any hapless trooper unfortunate enough to be caught unaware. The Jedi were everywhere, energy blades of all colors slicing through armor like it was flimsi. And though most of them wielded the customary single-bladed saber, there were others who wielded double-bladed sabers; or even two at once, one in each hand; or slung a lightwhip, whirling them around like deadly vipers. For the first several minutes it was complete chaos, but then some commanders got their senses back and we were ordered again.

Our first priority was the Jedi library. The Jedi were destroying their holobooks so that the information could not be used. We were told to get in there and defend those bookcases with our lives. While some of us shot down any Jedi to come within twenty feet of the shelves, others inserted datachips into the bases and sucked data from the library like a mynock to a power cable. What the Jedi didn't destroy, we wiped clean.

Our next target was the Jedi Masters, particularly those who had poisoned their Padawans against the Clone Army. Descriptions and general positions began scrolling across our HUDs, marking them out. Up till now I had followed orders to the letter. I had pushed aside the tougher decisions and let my soldier's instincts take over. This was just another battle, just another enemy. It was as I ran through the Temple chasing down the Masters that I saw something I knew I would never forget, not even if I lived to one hundred. If I had pushed my doubts away before, this scene brought them back in vivid clarity and reinforced them. As I raced across a balcony with my brothers, I looked down. And there was Lord Vader, cutting down innocent, helpless Jedi younglings with insane, cold precision. I stopped short, feeling like I'd been punched in the gut. Masters were one thing. Men who could fight back, who could defend themselves, men who could kill. But children, defenseless, weeping, frightened children...

For me that was the turning point of the whole war. I knew then what I had to do, what orders I had to follow. Heedless of the clones around me, I dropped to one knee on the balcony, steadied my Deecee against the railing and sighted. I aimed for his back. With the deep cowl on, I couldn't tell exactly where his head was. And I wasn't going to miss. My finger tightened on the trigger.

"Hold, hold, hold!" a soldier beside me shouted. "That's our commander!"

"I know," I answered quietly.

"Are you insane?" he demanded.

"No." I was completely assured.

I pulled the trigger.

I'd heard that Jedi were fast and I'd even seen them in action, but this was downright inhuman.

Vader stiffened as soon as my finger depressed the trigger and whirled around, facing the deadly blue bolt. In one fluid motion he brought his lightsaber up and across his body, a fraction of a second before my shot would've slammed into his chest. He reflected the bolt neatly, straight back at me. Out of the dozen or so clones around me, he knew I'd been the one to take the crackshot. The bolt hit me square in the chest, leaving a wide scorch mark on my armor. I staggered back, breathless. And that was when it hit me. An invisible hand with the force of an enraged Wookie lifted me off my feet and threw me into the wall behind me, pinning me there. I blacked out for a second for lack of air. When I looked up again, it was to see Vader's lightsaber arcing through the air toward me. All Force-driven; he still stood on the ground below. The blue blade struck at an angle across my chest and stomach. It slid through my armor easily, penetrating muscle and tissue beneath. I screamed. In my short thirteen years of life I've had my fair share of pain, but nothing, nothing like that. Then, suddenly, the pressure lifted from my body and I fell to the floor, utterly broken. What few clones had remained to watch the scene passed me by. No one stopped. I was just another casualty in a long list.

* * *

><p>But I'm still alive. Vader knew it would be a slow, painful death. After all, I acted dishonorably. In the code of war, I don't deserve a mercifully quick death. So here I am. It's silent as a tomb now. That's really what the Temple has become. The blaster shots have died down to a stray bolt every once in a while. The Jedi are dead, defeated. I can only hope a few managed to escape. I can only hope that for the fraction of a second that Vader's back was turned that those younglings managed to pull together and run. I'd be at peace if I knew at least one had gotten away. I don't know if Vader's still in the Temple. Dropships have been coming and going for the past several minutes now. All of a sudden, I realize it's utterly silent, the last one having just lifted off, carrying troopers to face some new threat. Do my brothers miss me? My mind wanders. I hear footsteps. Someone's running this way, but quietly. It's no trooper; the steps aren't heavy enough. Suddenly, a young Padawan bursts around the corner. He begins to sprint down the hall, but he stops right in front of me. His head's tilted to one side like he's listening to something I can't hear, then he kneels beside me. His eyes widen as he takes in the jagged wound that crosses my body. He's young. I'd guess about fourteen. His eyes have a look in them that I've seen too many times in my brothers. The look of one who's seen way too much, way too fast.<p>

I take a shaky breath to speak.

He holds his hand out, palm toward me. "Don't talk. It'll only make it worse," he says. He places his hands on my chest and closes his eyes in concentration. "I can't stop death, soldier," he murmurs. "But I can ease its passing."

I feel gentle pressure and warmth radiating from his hands. He remains still a moment longer, then draws back, sitting back on his heels. He opens his eyes, breathing hard. I can't feel the pain as much anymore. Instead of a crushing weight, it's now a dull ache.

"Thank you," I manage.

The boy nods distractedly. "I only wish I could do more. I saw what you did earlier. I wish I had had the courage to stand up for what's right before it all came to this."  
>I don't know exactly what he's talking about. Or even if he's talking to me. He's gazing off into the distance, a faraway expression on his face. I cough. Something warm and wet sticks in the back of my throat. I taste blood. But there's one question I must ask, one thing I must know.<p>

"Tell me," I whisper. "Did they...get away?"

The Padawan looks back at me, focusing on my helmeted face with some difficulty. He leans closer so he can hear. "Who?" he asks quietly.

"The younglings."

His face drops, tears welling in his dark eyes.

"A few," he says hoarsely. "Far too few."

I relax. He's answered my question, severed my last tie to life.

"Then I do not," I cough again," die in vain."

The Padawan suddenly stiffens, head tilted once again. I hear them a fraction of a moment later. Footsteps. He looks at me one last time.

"Go in peace, soldier. May the Force be with you."

Then he leaps from the floor, straight up into the beams and rafters that cross the ceiling nearly twenty feet above us. He disappears behind the top of an ornamental column and that's the last I see of him.

Two clones round the corner, blasters held casually by their sides. They're men from the 501st, but I don't know them very well. Within the 501st, there were smaller divisions, breaking troopers into smaller, close-knit "squads" and these two weren't part of mine. The one on the left is missing two fingers on his right hand; I recognize him as Rev. The other I can't readily identify because he's still wearing his helmet. Rev walks over and looks down at me. "You still alive?" he asks as if he can't quite believe it. It seems I've already been reported dead.

I take a breath to speak, but it comes shallow, ending in weak coughing.

"Do you have any idea what they'll do to you if you survive this?" his comrade asks.

I don't have to ask who 'they' are. "Yes," I murmur. I know what they'll do. But no, I'm not going to survive this.

The clone then proceeds to tell me exactly what Command will do to traitors like me, but I'm not really paying attention. I can't focus on anything for long anymore. Rev is fiddling with something on his belt. I can't see it; he's just out of my field of vision. I hear a sound I've heard a million times before. An ammo clip's just been inserted in a blaster. In the dead silence of the Temple the sound carries weight.

Rev's comrade is still talking. Rev steps closer to me, head tilted to one side. Even under his helmet I can tell that he's glaring at his comrade, willing him to shut up.

"Hey, where's the other guy?" the clone suddenly asks, looking around as if he'll find someone hiding in the dark recesses.

"What are you talking about?" Rev asks. He adjusts his blaster as he speaks.

"I could've sworn I heard voices earlier."

"Probably just talking to himself," Rev shrugs casually, but the underlying note in his voice is a warning.

"No, there was definitely another voice," the second clone persists.

"Maybe another of our boys." Rev looks up from his blaster, satisfied that it's loaded.

"It was a young voice," the trooper shakes his head.

Rev doesn't answer.

"A Jedi, Rev," his comrade spells it out to him.

Rev kneels by my head. He's switched to an internal comlink now so that the other trooper can't hear him. "This is no way for a man to die. I'm sorry brother. May your soul find peace."

"What're you doing?" I hear the other man demand.

Rev pulls the trigger.

* * *

><p>Late that night, after most of the troops were cleared from the Temple, a dark shadow slid quietly past the remaining clone soldiers. He navigated the Temple with the air of one long familiar with the labyrinthine hallways. The feel of death and decay that permeated the Temple nearly overwhelmed him. But he had a duty to perform. The young Padawan reached the balcony where earlier he had found a mortally wounded soldier. No one stopped him. No one so much as shouted. The clone still lay as he had before, only the Padawan knew that this time, he was dead. Kneeling by the clone's lifeless body, he let the Force wash over him, clearing his mind. Then he noticed the trooper's helmet. It was tilted at an awkward angle and blackened where it met his neck. Someone had shot him. The Padawan ran his hand over the soldier's armor, feeling the tremors in the Force. There was no malicious intent, only a strange sense of loss. Whatever happened then wasn't hostile. The Padawan stood, glancing around the Temple. Parts of what was once his beloved home were still burning. The whole Temple was a shambles. His chest tightened. Determined, he grabbed a length of wood from a shattered beam on the floor nearby. Crossing into the next room, he lit it from the embers of a smoldering tapestry, coaxing the little coals into a blaze. He went back to the trooper's side. The least he could do was give him a Jedi burial. Quickly, he gathered any burnable debris he could readily find and arranged a funeral pyre around the soldier. It was fitting, sending him on with remains of the Jedi Temple. He thrust the torch into the pile and watched as it slowly grew into a steady, crackling blaze.<p>

"May the Force be with you."

He ignited his lightsaber, the steady thrum of the green blade doing nothing to comfort him. Tears stung his eyes; he let them fall, leaving shining trails down his cheeks. He set his mouth in a grim line and severed the Padawan braid that hung over his shoulder. Tossing it into the fire, he saluted the Temple, the soldier, and the memory of the Jedi. Turning, he walked, head high, lightsaber drawn, out of the Temple. Without a shot, without a sound, he disappeared into the darkened streets of Coruscant. A new era had begun.

**Your thoughts?**


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